


The Great Glad Tidings Tell

by ladygray99



Category: Fringe
Genre: Christmas, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-18
Updated: 2010-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygray99/pseuds/ladygray99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Olivia learned to sing and tolerate Christmas carols.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Glad Tidings Tell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yukito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yukito/gifts).



Olivia scanned through every station the car radio could pick up.  They were at least an hour deep into the sticks and the few stations that were still coming in were all playing the same pop Christmas carols.  Olivia wasn’t a fan of Christmas carols to begin with and having them sung by Elton John or Susan Boyle wasn’t helping to put her in the holiday spirit.

Olivia growled and Peter reached across the car, flicking off the radio as he did.  “Just focus on the road,” he said calmly.

“I was rather enjoying that last tune.”  Walter piped up from the back seat.

Olivia thought he’d been asleep.  “That was a washing powder jingle, Walter.”

“Well, it was quite catchy.”

Olivia glanced at the SatNav.  It was telling her there was at least another hour of driving to their location, a possible fringe event in the middle of nowhere and the only scenery would be miles of grey, barren, iced-over forest.

Walter started humming the washing powder jingle to himself.  Olivia swallowed down a sigh.  Most days she liked Walter.  He was like a slightly loopy, occasional stoner grandfather who made her something on her birthday that looked like low fat lemon sorbet but tasted like chocolate peanut butter fudge.  Then there were moments when Olivia remembered that Walter was the monster under her bed.  A kidnapper who experimented on children, flooded her tiny brain with chemicals and turned her into something she was never meant to be.

By the time Walter had hummed through the jingle a half dozen times she had developed the urge to pull over and leave him by the side of the road. 

“Walter!” she snapped.  Walter fell silent.

The car rolled on with only the sound of the engines and the tires grinding along the ill-kept country highway.

“I know,” Peter said suddenly.  “Let’s sing our own Christmas carols.”

“No,” Olivia snapped.  “And I have a gun,” she added just to make her position clear but Peter just chuckled at her.

“Come on.  It’ll help pass the time.”

“I think it’s a splendid idea,” came Walter’s vote from the back seat.

“No.  I don’t like Christmas carols.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

Olivia tried not to let Peter’s comment sting.

“They’re always just so gooey and fake and between Halloween and New Years you just can’t get away from them.”

“When Peter was a child he would sing carols to his mother.” Walter piped in brightly.  “He had a lovely voice as a child.  He would sing ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ so sweetly. It was his mother’s favorite.”  Walter’s voice suddenly trailed off into old sorrows.

Olivia took her eyes from the road for a second to look over at Peter.  He gave his head a tiny shake.  It was the other Peter, decades under the earth, who had sung for his mother. 

Peter turned and looked at Walter who was now staring solemnly out the window.  He took a breath.  _“Oh little town of Bethlehem,”_   Peter’s voice filled the sedan. _“How still we see thee lie…”_

No longer the sweet voice of a child, Peter’s voice was rich and warm.  It rolled across Olivia.  She flexed her fingers that had been digging into the steering wheel.

 _“Above thy deep and dreamless sleep,”_ Walter joined in. _“The silent stars go by.”_

Their voices harmonized and the feeling that had been a wave was now a vibration.  The road still stretched ahead grey and empty but as the Bishops continued to sing their voices in perfect balance Olivia felt a warmth begin to crawl quietly up her limbs.

She felt a memory flutter in the back of her mind.  It hadn’t taken long working for the Fringe Division to know that buried memories were often important even if you wanted to leave them buried.

As the song flowed to the last verse Olivia snatched at the memory before it could flit away.  It was mostly sensation.  Her hand so small, being held by a larger one.  And though larger that hand was soft and old.  There was the smell of wax and the flickering of candles.  Cool but not cold.  Looking up between broad shoulders pressed together and seeing stars, so many stars.  And over all of that the memory of voices.  Men’s voices in harmony filling the night, singing songs of the season.

Olivia quickly wiped her eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Peter quickly asked.

“Nothing.” Olivia squeaked and was immediately ashamed of the crack in her voice.  “When I was little, before we moved to Florida, my grandfather took me to these midnight carols for Christmas.  The church had this men’s choir and they would sing out on the steps on Christmas Eve.  I just haven’t thought about it in a long time.  I think he passed away just after we moved.”

“Is that why you don’t like Christmas carols?” Peter asked.

“No.  I don’t like Christmas carols ‘cause they’re piped into every shop and restaurant for months and by the time Christmas actually rolls around I want to start shooting speakers and they always play the really annoying ones that get stuck in your head, like Jingle Bells.”  Peter laughed and Olivia knew how bitchy she sounded.  “You two aren’t half bad though.”

“If the whole crime fighting mad scientist thing doesn’t work out we can take the show on the road.  The Singing Bishops.”

“Well, I’d come to see you.”

Peter glanced into the back seat. “What do you say, Walter?  You and me playing Vegas?”

Walter smiled.  “Excellent idea.  I still have all my Sinatra records somewhere.”

Olivia laughed.  “And what am I supposed to do while you two are living the high life?”

Peter grinned his con man grin and let his eyes rake up and down her body.  “Well every act needs a pretty girl.”

Olivia shook her head.  “No.  I can’t sing.”

“Can’t sing, or don’t sing?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well we have still have an hour to kill.  Walter and I can start you on something easy like Silent Night, then we’ll work you into the act.”


End file.
